


Worth Changing For

by Serena_Rose



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, No Established Cheleanor, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serena_Rose/pseuds/Serena_Rose
Summary: An alternate end to A Fractured Inheritance. Eleanor finds facing her mother's new life too much to bear and Michael learns the right things to say (and not to do).
Relationships: Donna Shellstrop & Eleanor Shellstrop, Michael (The Good Place) & Eleanor Shellstrop, Michael (The Good Place)/Eleanor Shellstrop
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	Worth Changing For

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said I was taking a break from writing and I am, but this episode always hit a personal nerve with me and it felt incredibly cathartic to write a piece with Eleanor dealing with her family issues as well as Michael dropping the 'father figure' act to give her some decent comfort. Also mild spoilers for the movie 'Hereditary' for those who haven't seen it (seriously, watch it, like Eleanor it's one of few films recently that really scared me!)

One would think that finding out that you had recently spent three hundred years in Hell only to have your memory erased and be brought back from the dead was the biggest Earth shattering to discover. But that little mind explosion seemed like a pitiful tremble next to Eleanor watching as her mother put her hands on Patricia’s shoulders, her face glowing with pride as she talked to the other moms and the kid held up her art project. Had Donna sat with her for hours after school, helping her glue and draw and whatever crap it needed working on? Had she asked her about her favorite subjects and how she was getting on with her friends? Had she given her a hug when the kid confessed to how upset it made her to be picked on, instead of rolling her eyes and accusing Patricia of ‘bumming her out’?

Eleanor can’t imagine how it’s possible. It has to be anther Shellstrop con, or else her mother had a complete brain transplant? And there’s definitely no signs of surgery beneath those extensions, as far as Eleanor can see. Which means it has to be fake. It’s the only way it makes sense. She’s got poor little Patty and her dopey pops caught hook, line and sinker. As soon as Eleanor leaves Nevada, it will be only a matter of time before Donna abandons the two of them both flopping and gasping for air on the sizzling pavement.

“It’s brilliant because he thinks she’s honest.” She states, aloud, knowing exactly how her mother’s crafty, selfish brain works; “So when she runs off with all his money, he’ll never see it coming.”

Michael sighs behind her and Eleanor almost forgot he was there. She had been speaking her thought out loud rather than intending to explain it to her weird demon guide.

“Come on, Eleanor, I’ve changed, you changed. Maybe she’s changed too.”

“No,” she refuses to accept it, “No way.”

It took Eleanor a near-death experience along with the meddling of two immortal beings and the company of her friends, in particular one who happened to be a master at teaching how to be ethical, for her to change. She can’t speak for Michael because she has no memory of what or who he used to be, if he was even that awful to begin with or just stuck in a crappy system, but he claimed it was more or less the same for him in their afterlife together. What the hell did Donna have to turn her into the Stepford Mom? Even at Eleanor’s worst, she was at least good enough to know not to have kids because she wouldn’t dare risk doing to them what Donna did to her.

“Why can’t you accept that she might be living a good, honest life?” She feels Michael lean towards her, every word he says feeling like he’s nudging her with a red, hot poker; “That she’s an attentive partner and a good mother?”

A good mother?! A good fucking…

Something in Eleanor’s brain snaps as she turns around to face the tactless imbecilic.

“Because I wanted that mom!” She replies with such tearful vitriol that it makes Michael reel back; “I wanted the mom who made me afternoon snacks instead of just telling me to root around for loose fries in the McDonald’s ballpit! Why does Patricia get that mom?!”

She wants to know. She wants this all-knowing, smart mouthed demi-god or whatever who claims to have all the answers to tell her what the fuck Patricia did to deserve having a loving mother in Donna when her own biological daughter didn’t?

What the fuck did she do to deserve such a shitty upbringing? Was she just wrong from the start?!

“If Donna Shellstrop has truly changed, then it means she was always capable of changing!” Eleanor’s voice breaks as he wraps her arms around herself; “…I just wasn’t worth changing for.”

It means that there is something about Patricia which, when Donna looks into her eyes, she wants to be a better person. Yet when she looked into the eyes of her own blood and flesh, all she wanted to do was snap or gaslight or mock or run away and hide. It means that Donna saw her as disposable, as a practice run for when she found a family worth caring about.

Michael looks down at his shoes; “I know as your self-appointed father figure I’m supposed to say something comforting but…I’m kinda stumped.”

The aching pit in Eleanor’s chest seems to collapse further down. It’s as if her heart is being crushed.

Is this what it was like for those three hundred years? To be psychologically tortured rather than dunked in boiling water or fed to scorpions? She’d never taken the time to really consider the weight of what had been done to her before, as she had no memory of it. Until now, it almost sounded as if she and her friends had gotten off easy, being randomly picked for Michael’s little experiment rather than given the usual treatment. She couldn’t find it in her to really hate the guy for having done his job, for living out the existence he had been literally created for.

Now she understood why he had gone for that ‘revolutionary’ idea. It was out of no small mercy for mankind. Mental torture could be just as cruel, sadistic and hurtful as any burnings or lashings. Eleanor thinks she would gladly take a few of her fingernails being pulled at this moment if it replaced the poisonous envy and resentment inking through her veins. She would beg for a lobotomy if it meant no longer being aware of feeling so unloved and empty.

She pushes past Michael and runs for the exit, not wanting anyone to see her cry, least of all her mother.

“Eleanor…”

Pushing her way out the doors, she ignores Michael calling her name behind her. The front courtyard of the school is empty, bar a few older kids not-so-subtly smoking weed behind a tree in the corner.

She needs air. How can there not be enough air outside?

Michael doesn’t seem to follow her out straight away. He’s probably saying goodbye on her behalf to Donna, Patricia and his new ‘best buddy’ Dave. She’s almost tempted to tell the guy to stay here and keep bonding with him for a few more days if he wants. The whole reason she had to have Michael tag along with her was because he knew the address and the details of how Donna faked her death. She doesn’t need a guide anymore.

She needs…she _wants_ a friend.

Eleanor takes a seat on the wall and pulls out her phone. She tries calling the other soul squad members, Chidi first, then Tahani, then Jason, even Janet who she had finally persuaded to buy a cell when she realised no one could communicate through her mouth here.

“C’mon, guys, I need you.” She mumbles, each call going straight to voicemail which she doesn’t have the guts to speak on.

They’re all probably at the airport or getting ready to board their flight.

Or maybe they’re having too much fun in Budapest. Eleanor hadn’t even got to set foot outside before turning around towards Departures to catch the first plane back to the States. Had there even been any point in her coming here? She clearly wasn’t needed! Her mother had got better all her own…Eleanor was, in more ways than one, completely pointless.

When Chidi fails to answer her third attempt, she throws her phone at the floor, feeling the smallest pang of release when the screen shatters and breaks into pieces.

The tears fall now, fast and heavy, droplets cascading off her cheeks and onto her jeans.

Stupid Mom had now made her break her phone. It wasn’t enough to kill her dog. It wasn’t enough to make her feel ashamed of being sad or to steal her boyfriends.

A shadow passes over her, cutting off what warmth she was getting from the afternoon sun and making her feel even colder than she did inside.

She stills before the hand touches her shoulder.

“C’mon…Don’t be sad…”

Eleanor slaps Michael’s hand off of her and turns to give him a scowl.

“Fuck you, dude! Seriously. Fuck you!” She rounds on him with greeted teeth, one finger pointed towards his chest; “Who the fuck do you think you are, waltzing into my life, meddling like I’m some fucking Barbie in a doll house, and then getting to tell me show I should and should not feel?! What right do you have to drop this bombshell on me and then expect me to be cool with it?! And how fucking dare you, Mr. All-Powerful Orville Redenbacher, get to say that my mother changing ‘isn’t about me’?! Or that you can appoint yourself as my fucking Dad after torturing me for three hundred years?!”

The kids smoking pot nearby who are overhearing this conversation must think they’re having a major trip.

“Eleanor, will you just calm-.” He tries, waving his hand at her.

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down! Stop telling me how to feel or how to react because you do not fucking control me, Michael! I am not your toy! I am not your project! And I am certainly not your fucking daughter! I’m thirty-six years old going on three hundred, apparently, I do not need a demon of all things to tell me what I should be happy or sad about! This is my life and it’s my feelings, okay?! That was MY childhood that Donna Shellstrop screwed up and made into a nightmare! She does not get to erase that by pretending it never happened or by wiping the slate clean and starting over again with someone else! And it does not erase the pain she caused me or mean that I have to forgive her and be happy for the woman who fucking abused me, got it?!”

She’s almost in his face now, finger jabbing into his shirt, herself fuming below his chin as she glares up at him.

Michael reels back again, putting up one palm, as if in need of a shield.

His mouth works, wordlessly, as he seems to struggle with coming up with a response to her. Still ‘stumped’ as before. It infuriates Eleanor that the guy seemed to act as if he knew what was best in this situation since they arrived and now that she’s finally talking back, he looks as shy and withdrawn as a nervous college boy. Did he honestly not think she could see through it? That the whole ‘wise, stern guardian’ persona was nothing but a cheap mask?

No wonder she was able to beat his game over eight hundred times.

Finally, he speaks, his eyes looking past her to the ground; “…You broke your phone.”

Eleanor sighs and looks over to the spot where her iPhone dropped. She goes over and gives it one last stomp to let out more of her anger. It seems a better choice than using Michael’s foot.

“I was trying to call the others, none of them are answering.” She mumbles, realising that doesn’t explain why she felt the need to wreck it.

It helped dispel another bout of tension stuffing up her chest. That’s enough.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” He offers.

“No, forget it, dude. I’ve got more than enough money.” Which, seeing as Michael was the one who gave her the lucky winning scratch cards, meant he is still technically paying for it, but it’s the principle that counts.

She’s been fending for herself since she was eleven, it’s nothing new.

Don’t rely on anyone because they will always let you down, that’s what her parents taught her. It was a lesson she might have taken to her grave, and in fact she did in one timeline, had she not met her friends. Fuck, she misses them.

“I’ll buy one tomorrow and just use the landline back at Donna’s.” They have to go back to get the car anyway. There’s no avoiding it, as much as Eleanor wishes she could just walk straight to the airport to grab the others.

She’s nowhere near into exercise enough for that.

“What were you trying to call them for? You’ll see them in the morning, you’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”

Eleanor bites her lip; “Look, man, you just don’t get it, okay! I wanted someone to talk to now, because I’m upset and I…” she wipes at her face, swallowing the lump in her throat; “I’m not used to this, okay? I’m not used to handling all these feelings and shit, I usually avoid this crap and when something emotional does come up, I go drown my brain tequila and sleep it off with the first guy I can find.”

Which she would have been happy to take as an option, given 'hot, silver demon-fox' being her travelling buddy, but not when the guy seemed to be so keen to treat her like a child and play ‘daddy’. Not even the _fun_ kind of ‘daddy’.

“I know I can talk to them tomorrow but now is when I feel the most crappy. Now is when I’m feeling…ugh, lost and…” she squirms as she confesses what she dreads; “Scared.”

Michael frowns; “Why are you scared? I wouldn’t let anything hurt you-.”

Eleanor steps back from his hand reaching, cautiously, towards her.

“Not that kinda scared, genius. Scared that…there’s something wrong with me. Something that’s the reason my mom couldn’t love me and that maybe I can never truly be loved.” Eleanor admits, her voice trembling once more; “…Scared that I’m…broken.”

Why is she telling all of this to him? It’s clear by the dumbfounded look on his face that he’s as confused as ever by her words. He can’t understand. It doesn’t make sense to him but…that’s the point. Human feelings are rarely rational. Michael isn’t human. He will never understand.

It’s not his fault. Eleanor makes a mental note to apologise for snapping once her anger is gone.

“I just…I thought I was strong enough to face my mother and handle whatever she threw at me but…I can’t. I can’t do it.” She tells him, sniffling; “…Not alone.”

Michael’s lips part, his face twitching with a flash of…pain?

How on earth did what she say hurt…

Oh.

Eleanor cringes with regret; “Oh, dude. I’m sorry, I…I really am grateful you came here with me, it’s just…I haven’t been without my friends for this long in over a year and I know you know me from before but you’re still kinda this tall, mysterious stranger to me, y’know? It’s not quite the same.”

The demon blinks at her. It’s a split second, when he suddenly looks so small, before he nods.

“…I get it.”

Did his voice just break a little?

Fuck, she really doesn’t want to upset the guy.

“I really am glad that you told me the truth, bud.” She reaches to touch his arm; “I get that you were only trying to help, it’s just…”

“I didn’t?”

Bingo.

She sighs; “I think I could’ve lived the rest of my doomed existence happier not knowing this. But that’s not your bad, you didn’t know about her new family and…I shouldn’t expect you to understand all our sappy human drama. It must seem so insignificant to you with your cosmic, immortal eyes. You dunno how lucky you are…I wish I could see it as nothing.”

“I don’t think it’s nothing…” he says, softly.

“No. You’re right. My mom was right.” Eleanor holds herself tighter, the cold inside her spreading, “It’s my own fault for feeling this way. I didn’t wanna accept that she’d changed because it meant accepting what was clear all along…that I’m not worthy of love.”

“Oh…Eleanor.”

She shakes her head, stepping back from his reach again; “Don’t. I nearly tore apart a happy family, took away a girl’s loving stepmom, because I couldn’t handle the truth. What kind of selfish asshole does that? Who could blame Donna for loving sweet little Patricia over a selfish dirtbag like me?” Eleanor laughs, weakly, as self-deprecating as ever.

Maybe she should try calling Simone. Maybe there was a way to explain her current situation without going into the whole afterlife thing and dooming her as well? She knew how to help her work through her destructive feelings before and put them into an understandable context. Was this another case of her acting like a child having a tantrum?

Maybe she was more in need of a parental figure than she would care to admit. But she knew, sure as anything else, that the clueless immortal dork in front of her was the last person fit for the role, try as he might.

The best he can do is hand her his handkerchief from his suit pocket.

She gives a weak smile and rubs at her face with it.

“M’sorry, man. You could’ve been enjoying that fancy art show with Tahani but instead you’re stuck at my little pity party.”

“I don’t really get art, to be honest. Sketching’s kinda fun but all that abstract stuff goes over my head.” He tells her.

“God, me too! I mean it’s like, ‘you threw some shapes on a giant piece of paper, congrats Van Gogh!”

“Picasso, but yeah, exactly!” He smiles with her and she manages to utter something close to a laugh.

At least they can be on the same wave-length about this.

And there had been some fun moments during their flight and drive here. It was definitely a good way to kick off their time along together travelling First Class and their in flight movie being the latest John Wick which they’d both enjoyed probably way too much as even the pilot called for them to quiet their cheering down. She’d expected to argue with Michael over the music in the car but there had been a Bon Jovi tape in the glove compartment which they’d sang aloud to, making the street boys bumping along in their pimped out Ferraris frown in judgement.

Michael was nowhere near the worst travelling buddy. It was just when he tried to be serious or seem like he knew better that he became a massive pain in the neck.

But, then again, seeing as he used to be a demon that was probably a huge improvement.

“Look, it’s not fair of me to expect you to understand any of what I’m going through-.”

“But I want to.” Michael tells her.

She pauses. Is he just saying that? Who would want to deal with this crap of hers?

“Please…Eleanor, I want to understand. I want you to teach me, just like be…” He stops himself, biting his lip.

She frowns.

“…Just like what?”

“N-nothing…It doesn’t…” He shuffles his big shoes before looking up at her; “…You used to help me understand. Before. Back when we were in the afterlife, together…You were the one who helped me understand how to be more…human.”

Eleanor blinks, stunned at that; “I thought Chidi helped you, like he helped all of us?”

“Chidi taught me about human ethics, but you…” He continues, shyly; “You’re the one who taught me about human feelings. Like, for instance, when I was freaking out about knowing I could be retired, you were the one who helped me deal with that. About how we’re all a little bit sad, knowing we’re gonna die and that’s…just the deal. It’s what makes life meaningful.”

She said that? For some reason a plunger and a concerned retail employee’s face pops into her head.

“And when I was being too much of an ass to apologise for lashing out when I couldn’t take Chidi’s classes, you were the one who told me it was better to be the bigger person and say sorry…That it was okay to admit when I was feeling lost…” Michael explains to her; “And whenever the lessons and the reforming myself thingy got too difficult…It was always you I could go to for help…To show me what path to follow.”

Eleanor struggles to picture herself being any kind of mentor for someone else. Perhaps a mento if she covered herself in mint ice cream? The closest she had come to being anyone’s guide on Earth was probably helping Chidi get over his funk or how to dump Simone.

“Wow, bud. I had no idea I meant that much to you.” She blinks at him.

Honestly, she hadn’t really thought much what their relationship had been. Michael had never mentioned anything more than an alliance of convenience between all of them turned into a real friendship. She thought she had caught him staring at her, more than the others, out the corner of her eye…but she always put it down to being the hot snack she was, who could blame him?

There’s a spread of pink on his cheeks now as he keeps looking shyly away, hands in his pockets.

“Kinda sounds like I was more the mama in whatever relationship we had.” She dares to give him a soft punch in the arm.

He grins, sheepish; “Perhaps…A part of me felt the need to return the favour. I guess it doesn’t really suit me, huh.”

“Don’t get me wrong. You’ve got the whole ‘sexy, authoritative look’ down, but that’s not exactly what you wanna be going for when trying to be someone’s parent. Okay, maybe in Arizona you can get away with that, but the rest of the world tends to frown on it.” She teases him; “You’re not really supposed to have the hots for your parental figure.”

“Oh…Now they tell me.” He says, almost too quietly for her to hear.

But she does.

…Wait, did he really just say _that_?

God, she could really do with a stiff drink right now. She should have downed more of those margaritas before leaving the house.

The school doors open and a bunch of adults with their kids flood out, including Donna and Dave and Patricia. Eleanor can’t help but shrink around the corner, even though she’s certain her mom won’t be looking for her anyway. She hears Donna’s voice in the distance, calling Patricia ‘sweetheart’ and asking her what she wants for dinner. It’s almost enough to bring the tears back.

This time she doesn’t shake off Michael’s hand when it lands on her shoulder.

“Why don’t you go get us a room at that nice hotel on the corner and I’ll bring the car around? You don’t have to go back there.” He hands her his credit card; “And maybe help yourself to opening that mini bar and any other treats you fancy.”

He must have read her mind. Does he have that power?

No matter. She takes the card with a tiny, grateful smile. She’ll settle for letting him spoil her, if it makes him feel better to try to make her feel better. There are perks to having a chaste sugar demon.

*

Before he gets in the car, he hands Dave some designs he was drafted for him earlier while Eleanor was rooting around for ‘evidence’ in the house.

“Wow, you really fixed it up. I love the pillars and the foyer…Uh oh,” Dave snorts, “Looks like you forgot to put the bathrooms in.”

Michael laughs, awkwardly; “Right, sure! How could I forget? Because I use…bathrooms and…love to sit on those things and…shoot one out,” he clears his throat; “I should be going, Eleanor’s waiting for me.”

“Are you sure the two of you have to rush off so quick? You’re welcome to stay over.” Dave says with his arm around Eleanor’s mother’s shoulders; “We promise to try to keep it down.”

Stupid humans and their libidos.

“No, it’s fine, thank you for the offer and Eleanor is sorry she had to go so quick, she sends her regards.” Which Michael won’t pass on as they mostly involve very rude finger gestures; “But it was very nice meeting you both.”

He gives them a nod and turns to leave just as Dave lets go of Donna and leads his daughter inside.

Michael’s hand is on the car door when Donna’s voice stops him.

“I was protecting her.”

He stills.

Slowly, he turns to see Donna still stood on the pavement, hands in the pockets of her jacket. There’s an almost guilty but defensive slant to her pose that reminds him a lot of Eleanor, usually somewhere early in every reboot, when Chidi’s lessons were starting to take effect but with her self-centred spirit trying its best to resist their effects.

“I know she’s super pissed at me but, that’s why I didn’t wanna tell her. I knew she’d be happier thinking I was dead.” Donna explains.

Michael closes the door.

“You preferred to let your own daughter grieve than try to talk to her yourself?” He asks, quietly.

It probably wasn’t the best idea that Dave leave him alone with Donna, not after how the images of Eleanor’s emotional wounds are still fresh in his mind.

“Grieve?! Oh c’mon, I bet she poured one out on my grave! She was glad to be rid of me.”

Michael decides against telling Donna that, actually, her daughter had broken down in tears at the funeral when it came time to play “It’s Raining Men” before the fake casket disappeared behind the curtain.

“I wonder why that was.” He says instead, feeling a dark loathing in his essence that hasn’t been there since he started to turn his existence around.

Donna folds her arms; “Well, I was a pretty shitty mom, I’m not gonna hide from that. But I had a pretty shitty husband who didn’t lift a finger to help me out. And Eleanor wasn’t exactly Little Miss Sunshine, y’know, she never even tried to see what I was going through or how hard it was for me! It was always ‘Mommy, I’m hungry’ or ‘Mommy, my bed is cold, why can’t I have a real bedspread?’ I did the best I could, okay! I made sure she didn’t wind up in some flea-ridden foster home and do I get any thanks? No-oh! Patricia says ‘thank you, Diana’, she says ‘I love you, Diana’. I never got one of those from Eleanor-.”

“Because she never had a reason to say them!” Michael whispers, a slight low growl at the edge of his words.

Wow, how long has it been since he’s felt the desire to pull a human’s skeleton out this badly?

The Shellstrop matriarch narrows her eyes at him, moving her hands onto her hips. She’s not intimidated by him. Well, she wouldn’t be, considering who she gave birth to. Given what a spineless layabout her ex-husband was, Eleanor inherited that unyielding courage in the face of the devil from somewhere.

“She’s really told you all about me, hasn’t she. You two must be pretty tight.” She smirks, “Who exactly are you to my daughter, pal? Someone with the means to track me down and the money to buy a fancy car to roll up in, who just happens to know my Eleanor? Because if you’re some old creep getting into her panties then you really have no right to start judging me now, do you?”

He shifts his shoulder back with discomfort. It was sordid assumptions like that which made him try to go for the whole ‘noble father figure’ act. Human minds always seemed to go straight for the gutter.

“I’m her friend and I care about her, more than you ever did.”

Donna scoffs; “I can see that.”

Fuck, is she even the slightest bit regretful of the pain she caused Eleanor? How can she live with herself knowing what she did to her?!

“I was in a very dark place. Eleanor got me out of it and I owe her big time.” He tells the woman in terms she’s more likely to understand; “She’s an incredible woman.”

“That’s ‘cause she’s _my_ baby girl.”

Michael’s lip twitches; “I think you mean ‘in spite of that’.”

Donna’s face falls as he turns to open the car door again. He gets in the front seat and rolls down the window.

“I used to be like you. I thought I could just ‘reset’ and start over and forget the past, but it always catches up with you eventually.” His ledger might have more red than Donna’s can imagine, but he’s trying his best to clean it; “You have a second chance with that little girl in there, Donna Shellstrop. Eleanor was the one who taught me how lucky second chances are.” Well, eight hundred and two chances. He leans in close to utter his parting words, “Trust me…You _really_ don’t wanna screw this one up.” He smiles; “So long!”

He turns the volume on the music player up loud as he reverses off the front drive, aware that Donna is watching him leave, making sure he disappears along with the last trace of her old life, before she can head back inside to her new happy family.

All of his rants about reckless human behavior while driving seem to be forgotten as he nearly breaks the speed limit and misses a STOP sign. At the very least, he’s not texting while driving, as much as he wishes he was able to vent some of his thoughts with Janet right now. She’d become a rather good sounding board during their last two years, being the only real company he had, while they watched their friends struggle to become better from afar without being able to interact with them face-to-face. Michael doesn’t think he’s felt this much anger twisting up his gut since Trevor was sent flying through the void forever by the Judge’s hand.

Oh, how he’d come so close to telling Donna Shellstrop what was waiting for her in the afterlife. The special punishments reserved for abusive parents. Usually shrunken down and kicked about by giant demons like soccer balls, or left in barren pits to starve until their flesh wasted away to the bone, only to regrow again to be forever starving. Michael wanted, so badly, to warn her what was in store if she didn’t stick to being a good mother to Patricia and maybe, somehow, try to earn her real daughter’s forgiveness.

_“I just wasn’t worth changing for.”_

Just replaying those words in his head causes a mist to fall in Michael’s vision that almost causes him to run over a cat. Shit! Pissing off the Cat Gods is the very last thing he wants to do to make their situation worse than it already is.

How stupid could that women be to have Eleanor in her life and not appreciate how amazing she was, right from the start?

_Uh…_

How could she cause her so much pain without a seconds thought and only thinking about her own selfish needs?!

_Mikey…_

How is it possible she didn’t know how to love her sooner?! Why did it take so long to…

Ah.

_There it is._

Michael pulls over into the parking lot of the hotel he’d directed Eleanor to. He takes a second to get his thoughts together once he’s unclicked his seat belt. His thumbs drum on the steering wheel as he collects himself.

To think that he’d told Eleanor that this wasn’t about her, then for him to go around and turn it on himself. Because if Eleanor is able to forgive the mother who made her life miserable, then surely it was just as right and fair that she forgive the demon who did the same? _No, buddy, it doesn’t fucking work that way._ He cringes, cursing himself for what a crap friend he’s been today.

No wonder she wanted to call the others. No wonder she wanted anyone else to talk to, but him.

It’s not just that she doesn’t remember him. It’s that he sucks at this. A father figure? Really, Mike? Eleanor was right. She was the one who had been leading him by the hand the moment he changed sides. She was his guiding light, the one who tempered and tamed him, quenched all those flaming tentacles inside. Even now, with a fresh set of memories, she’s still putting him in his place.

What right does he have to tell her how to react, to tell her not to be sad just as Donna did, when she wouldn’t have done the same to him?

_When she didn’t do the same…_

What right does he have to judge Donna Shellstrop when he tortured her daughter for centuries and took far longer than she did to turn around and become a better person, even if they’re both still majorly flawed and don’t deserve Eleanor’s forgiveness?

His cell phone buzzes. 

Ah, she must have bought a new phone on the way back.

WHERE ARE YOU DUDE? GET IN HERE NOW! ROOM #17, WEIRD RECEPTION LADY WILL GIVE YOU KEY! X

He frowns at the worrying text from Eleanor. Why the urgency?

Was she in danger? That didn’t really make sense, why wouldn’t she be trying to run outside…Unless she’s hiding from someone or something?

Or maybe she’s desperate for him to get there to yell at him some more? The kiss doesn’t really flow with that but Michael was still getting the hang of human texting rules, like when not to use emojis or what things like rotflmao meant, as he’s sure that’s not a word.

A rather spaced out Arizona woman at the front desk hands him the key when he gives the name that’s on the credit card Eleanor used; ‘Michael Realman’.

He finds the door down the hall and hurries to open it, finding the lights inside dimmed.

“Eleanor?! Everything okay-?”

“Ah!” There’s a squeak from the bedroom where Eleanor is laying on her front at the foot of the bed, sheltering beneath the duvet around her shoulders as she huddles in the glow of the TV screen; “Oh, thank god, it’s you, bud!” She says, breathless.

“What’s wrong?” He’s relieved but confused to see she’s not under threat of being attacked but still oddly on edge.

He quickly glances to see the mini bar already opened and packets of candy opened on the bed along with an unopened bottle of Archers.

“I started watching this movie, Hereditary. The blurb said it was a horror film about a woman whose mother died. Sounded kinda apt, y’know.” She reveals, rolling her eyes; “I wasn’t expecting it to freak me out this much!”

Worry quickly cooling, Michael takes off his jacket, along with his tie, slipping them onto a hanger in the wardrobe.

“Since when do you get scared by horror films?” He asks, feeling a sting of nostalgia for their last reboot.

After seeing Eleanor’s glee at watching people get splattered during the little trolley problem lesson, they would sometimes treat themselves after a good attempt at studying by going to the beach and Michael would summon a screen for them in the air as they lay on the sand and ate junk food. The both of them would laugh and cheer at the blood fest and campy gore in classics like _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ and _Nightmare on Elms Street_ or, Michael’s personal favorite, _Carrie_.

“The stupid gory ones don’t do shit for me but this one is like…I dunno, just really tense and weird and I have no idea what the fuck is happening but I’m in too deep now and gotta see it to the end.” She says, eyes still fixed on the screen as she grabs another handful of whoppers to stuff in her mouth.

Slow, subtle, creeping unease that carefully chips away at Eleanor’s confidence in reality to leave her feeling exposed and confused – yep, that’s what used to do it. Michael’s trouble was always having the patience to see that kind of torture through versus Eleanor’s ability to see through it all too quickly for it to work.

The clown paintings being there to haunt her day and night were the closest he could manage.

At least she’s no longer mad at him, he thinks as he takes a seat in the chair beside the bed.

“What the hell, dude?! Get your ass over here! You said you’d let nothing hurt me, remember, so come do your job!” She budges over on the queen-sized bed and lifts some of the duvet.

Even though he’s certain that she knows nothing in that TV could possibly come out to get her, except maybe a spooky little girl demon, Michael doesn’t dare to deny her request. He goes to sit beside her and Eleanor sits up to lean against him, placing the candy between them.

He can’t help but feel tense, as natural as she is curling into his side.

The old him, as in the Michael from just over two years ago, had no qualms about invading a humans personal space. And he was more than comfortable smooshing up against Eleanor during their movie nights or if they were messing around outside of their class and fake torture sessions. But this felt…so much different, with Eleanor not remembering that, or having any full grasp on who he used to be, what he did. It makes him cautious to put his arm around her but she seems to invite it whenever something on screen causes her to flinch or she notices some creepy detail as the movie doesn’t seem to rely on many jump scares or blood.

“Wait, so is the mother going crazy or is she possessed?” Michael hates coming in half-way through.

“I dunno, man- Holy shit, did you see that?! Right there, in the corner, fuck!” Eleanor’s finger wags as she spots what looks to be a barely recognisable figure in the shot of the corner of the room; “Oh crap!”

“Hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Michael tries awkwardly patting her quivering shoulder; “It can’t hurt- OH SHIT HE’S ON FIRE!”

Now they’re both screaming and clutching onto each other like a couple of frightened otters. Their startled screams soon melt into nervous laughter. Michael gladly takes a handful of chocolate into his mouth as they finish the movie. It’s a bit more their ‘style’ when people start being chased around the house and heads start falling off, leading to the big twist at the end.

“Wait, so it was to summon a demon the whole time?” Eleanor frowns, almost sounding let down.

“I think I went to college with that guy. Good for him, getting into acting.” Michael’s aware that he’s not the first demon to make it up on Earth.

Once the movie is over, he snaps his fingers, before remembering that his powers don’t work and he has to lean over to turn the lamp on.

Eleanor lets out a deep breath and straightens up.

“Boy, that was intense! Sorry I didn’t wait for you, I was getting bored and I didn’t know if you intended to stay and have dinner with your new best pal Dave.” She says, reaching for the peach schnapps.

That little sting of guilt starts to return as Michael regrets if it seemed as though he spent more time bonding with a fellow architect than being there to support Eleanor.

“Did Mommy Dearest say anything about you to me?” She asks, pouring them both a small glass with some ice.

Donna sure did have quite a bit she felt the need to say, even if Michael didn’t ask.

He takes the glass, looking into Eleanor’s eyes for a moment. Behind that hardened stare is a fracture of hurt.

“…She says she was only trying to protect you by lying and running away. And she’s sorry.”

She didn’t quite say that last part but Michael hopes to Upper Management she had been working towards it in one way or another. He says the words for Eleanor’s sake, not Donna’s.

He’s not sure if that’s right or not, or if it helps.

Eleanor simply glances down before taking a big swig of her drink; “M’glad I got us room with a fridge full of booze. Sorry they didn’t have one with two beds.”

“It’s fine, I don’t need to sleep.” He had pretended to close his eyes and rest on the flight, so as not to seem too weird to the stewardess, having stayed very still as a sleeping Eleanor had moved her hand onto his armrest then as well.

He almost goes to move back onto the chair, now that Eleanor doesn’t need him to ‘protect her’ anymore now that the movie is over, before she tugs him by his sleeve to stay with her.

“Y’know it’s rude to let a girl be drunk and miserable on her own.” She gives him a wink.

Is it? Well, he’s hardly going to leave her alone, but he’s also not sure the alcohol has any effect on him down here. He was only ever able to get drunk in the afterlife the same way humans could; by willing themselves to do so after a drink or not.

When Eleanor bats those luscious eye lashes at him, he can’t resist her plea, taking a swig of the schnapps.

“Oooh, that stuff is sweet! Can I have more?” He holds his glass out and Eleanor is more than happy to serve him up.

If he can’t quite manage to get tipsy in his human suit on Earth, he can at least enjoy the sugar rush as well as the inevitable high that comes from simply being in Eleanor’s company. It’s good to see her in a far better mood, going by her smile, but he’s careful to watch her eyes and the odd moment where the laughter seems to still and there’s a shimmer of vulnerability she’s always quick to hide.

She’s clearly not interested in talking anymore about Donna and Michael knows better now than to press. Soon they’re both sprawled together on the bed with far too much candy and macadamia nuts. Eleanor is suddenly rather desperate to hear more about their previous time together in the afterlife, where before she had seemed rather indifferent about it and it wasn’t as if Michael thought it would mean as much, to her, to share it.

But he’s giddy on sugar and alcohol now, whether that counts as drunk or not, and Eleanor is lying on her front so close to him on the bed…it’s almost as if the last two years never happened and they were still chilling together like old times.

“So, tell me, what sort of crazy shit that a hot trashbag such as moi used to get up to with an actual devil such as yourself?” Eleanor dares to ask, walking a couple of fingers up his arm; “When you realised I kept beating you, did you offer me co-rulership of Hell or anything? ‘Cause I can see me being up for that.”

“I did, once or twice.” He confesses; “After six hundred or so reboots. But you could never bring yourself to torture your friends, or ignore all those ethics lessons…In hindsight, I shoulda tried making that proposal at the start of a reboot. Damnit.”

“Eyy. All worked out in the end, buddy. Except not because we’re both doomed anyway.” Eleanor hiccups.

“Mmm. Sorry, again.” He wishes he could give her another macaroni heart as an apology present.

She shakes her head, looking more tired than drunk, but she hasn’t had that many Michael thinks, unless she started some before he turned up.

“It’s not like I was ever getting in there anyway so, nothing tried, nothing lost, or whatever that saying is.”

He doesn’t think the one she wants applies to this situation anyway.

Michael finds her hand that’s been sneakily playing with his cuffs and gives it a squeeze; “Hey. Janet and I still have a key to get back to the afterlife. And that means that, as soon as you die, which I’m gonna try to make sure isn’t for a really long time, I’m gonna quickly grab you guys before the Bad Place or anyone else gets their hands on you. Okay?”

“You can do that?” She seems sceptical.

Can he? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mikey, that’s gotta be a part of lying. Just like with the whole ‘I know a way to get to the Good Place’ schtick.

“I’m not sure but I’ll try. I refuse to give up.” He tells her, as fiercely as he can sound; “Just like you never did. Not once.”

Eleanor gives him a smile, shuffling a little closer on her side towards him. Her free hand travels to the buttons on his shirt, her eyes drifting to the base of his neck.

“Am I kinda like your muse then?” She asks, lowering her voice.

He recalls her asking him to say that aloud to a room full of demons once, long ago. He hadn’t been in the mood to indulge her, even for the sake of furthering her torture, what with how badly his first attempt was falling apart and the whole Jason and Janet nonsense at the time. Funny how true Eleanor would end up being once again.

“More than you know.” He confesses, feeling the strangest tremble at the feel of her palm smoothing against his chest; “Like I said before…You were the one who helped me get better. You were the one I looked to for guidance and…inspiration. You were the one who told me about the little voice in your head that told you to stop doing bad things. Do you remember? The pickle short of a pickle party?”

He watches as Eleanor’s brow creases at his words, her index finger tracing below his collar as her slightly fuzzy head puts the pieces together.

“Wait…I remember…” She looks up at him; “That was you? The ethics livewire barkeep?”

Fuck, why is this making his chest ache?

He didn’t expect her recalling that night to make him feel _this_.

“Oh, it’s coming back to me now.” She blinks, and Michael is always amazed at how humans ability to repair their own memory works once triggered without magic; “You gave me a load of free drinks for my birthday?”

“Not quite. You were already hammered by the time you came in, I just gave you really watered down vodka and glasses filled with olives while you explained the plot of some insane kangaroo movie to me. It took me about two hours to get onto the subject of philosophy, hoping it would push you towards finding Chidi’s classes.”

A grin spreads across Eleanor’s face; “You listened to me blather on for two hours? Man! Wait, I’m sure I remember getting kicked out of my Uber that night…”

“You threw up in his back seat so I took you home.”

“Ugh, did I throw up in your car too?” She cringes.

He grins, not telling her that he actually stole the car he used to take her home; “No, you just passed out…and then waited till I was leading you out to throw up on my shoes.”

Eleanor covers her face as she laughs. Michael can’t help but join her, not that he’d been that bothered about it at the time, he was still buzzing at being able to be on Earth and be able to drive a stolen car in the first place. Not to mention seeing Eleanor again after a year with only ticker tape to run through his fingers.

“And you put me to bed? You weren’t even tempted to have a little…” She taps her lips; “I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you, I was in a pretty smoking dress.”

“You were unconscious.”

If there was any way to make kissing even more gross, that would be it. He didn’t need months of ethics lessons to know that.

It suddenly feels rather hot in this room, especially the closer Eleanor’s fingers softly drum around his nape.

“Hmm. Such a gentle-demon.” She hums, leaning up a little; “It’s a good thing I’m definitely conscious now, huh.”

Michael stills as he suddenly realises how close her face is to his, blocking out the rest of the room from his mind, taking away the reality of their cursed fate. Those piercing green-blue eyes are focused entirely on him, beckoning him, rather than a side-eye of uncertainty and emotional distance. She’s wetting her lips and bringing them closer to his, her fingers stroking up to press beneath his chin, steadying him for her aim as she kisses the corner of his lips.

Oh. Oh, _that’s_ kissing?

A whole boat load of human behaviour suddenly made a There of a lot more sense.

He lets out a short breath, remaining frozen, his mind a blank before she moves her lips close again, this time a little harder, her hand moving to grasp at his collar. Crap, so this is what all the fuss is about! This is what all those confusing colors and energies fizzling around her, around himself, as well as all the weird thoughts in his head and the heavy fog of red tension had heralded. He’d asked himself, many times, if ‘this’ was friendship then why was it so different with her than the others? He never dared to consider it might be something…more…

Now his hand is on her shoulder, squeezing the fabric of her sweater, wondering if she’s as hot as he feels right now and perhaps it would help her to undress. Fuck, what is going through his mind?!

He carefully pushes her back; “Eleanor…This isn’t right. I’m not…”

“C’mon, bud.” She whispers, her breath caressing around his lips; “Don’t try pulling the whole father figure shit on me again, we know that’s not what we’ve got going on.”

He shakes his head; “You didn’t even know who I was until a couple of weeks ago.”

This isn’t his Eleanor. Not his study buddy. Not his favorite fake-torture victim. Well, she is and she isn’t. The point is that he’s not anything to her. Nothing significant. Nothing meaningful.

“I know you now. Any dummy can see that you had it bad for me.” She grins, wanting; “And getting close to hooking up with a demon, that definitely sounds like something I would do, so even if I don’t have all my memories right now, maybe you can find a way to…kickstart them, y’know?” Eleanor puts her arms around his neck, sliding close so her knee brushes up close against his.

“It…doesn’t work that way.” He wishes it did. Crap, how lame and cliché but wonderfully easy it would be to restore all of Eleanor’s memories with a kiss.

“Well, it’s not like I’m not attracted to you already. My mom was right about one thing, you are one stretched out sexy gameshow host, and I’m a straight up hottie. So it’s a no win situation. We both get something good out of it. How about we just…try?” She fiddles with his top button, carefully undoing it, then another, before stroking some of the exposed skin beneath his clavicle; “Better than not trying, right?”

Why does that have to be her newfound motto for everything? It had made his non-existent heart expand when she’d said those words to him and Janet back in Australia, but this was a completely different context. Michael was certain there were potentially things to be…lost here. Or damaged beyond repair.

But, fuck, it’s so hard to resist when she’s this close and this warm, when her hands are suddenly so curious and every little touch of skin to skin thrills his essence like nothing he’s felt before. When her lips move against his again, he indulges the selfish demon inside to give into learning exactly how sweet and intense kissing a human can be, just for a few blissful seconds. He wants nothing but to focus on the taste of Eleanor Shellstrop before the voice of Joey Tribbiani suddenly slips into his head.

_C’mon man. She’s needy, she’s vulnerable, I’m thinking cha-ching!_

Damn it, stupid show always right!

Michael gently pushes back, almost immediately regretting it when he sees the fragility in Eleanor’s expression. For once he’s grateful for not being able to see her aura down here.

“I can’t…I’m sorry.” He tells her, earnestly _. You have no idea how fucking sorry I am._

“Why not?” She looks betrayed by her own voice when it breaks at that question.

She’s asking why he doesn’t want her. Fuck, this is why everyone hates ethics and moral philosophy! There’s no fun for anyone.

Michael takes a breath and sits up against the headboard.

“Because you’re right.” He says, “You don’t need a dad, Eleanor, you never did. But you don’t need some sleazy night in a hotel to distract you either.”

She scoffs at that, sitting herself up. She reaches for the bottle of Archers only to find it empty. She slams it on the bedsheets, which doesn’t have quite the destructive effect she was probably hoping for.

That weakened, depressed look starts to fall over her again at his rejection.

“Tell me what I need then, genius.” She says, tersely.

“A friend.”

Eleanor meets his gaze again, a shine of tears in her eyes.

“That’s what you were trying to call the others for, right? Because you wanted to talk to someone about all this stuff with your mom and I was…well, to use a human expression, a useless turd?” He smiles.

That makes her laugh, despite herself.

She shakes her head; “You weren’t that bad…” She looks away, moving her legs up to her chest and hugging them.

Michael tries to shuffle a little closer, avoiding the risk of sending mixed signals.

“I am sorry for pushing you.” He tries reaching for her hand again; “I had no right to make you feel like you had to forgive her or accept that she’d change. And you are not obligated to help fix the woman who made your life a living hell. It’s harder for me to understand humans down here. In the afterlife, I can see all the files on your lives and read your auras…but down here it’s like, I’m running around nearly blind.”

Eleanor sniffs; “Michael, it’s fine. Like I said, I know you’re not human, so I don’t expect you to understand-.”

“But I should. Because one of the first lessons you gave me was how wrong it is to bottle up your feelings.” He tells her, rubbing his thumb over her hand; “So, in the words of a very wise Arizona girl quoting a very wise Bed, Bath and Beyond employee; go ahead and cry all you want…”

The human before him lets out another laugh, a couple of tears spilling out of her eyes.

“I’m sure there’s a toilet plunger in the bathroom if I need it.”

He laughs with her, keeping hold of her hand as she edges closer to him, almost an entirely different woman to the Eleanor who was turning the heat up as she moved in close barely a few minutes ago. Suddenly, she seems so much smaller, sliding up to Michael and letting him put his arms around her in a far more innocent embrace.

He leans back against the pillows and lets her snuggle against his chest, their tangled hands settled together on his stomach while his other arm is securely around her back.

“Listen, Eleanor,” He whispers to her, “I know I can’t speak for your mother or guarantee she’s a better person now. But, if nothing else, I can only imagine that you were the reason she wanted to change for Patricia. Even if she wasn’t strong enough to change when you needed her to, you at least inspired her to do it for another little girl who needed her. I know that doesn’t erase what she did to you…Just like, no matter how close you and I get, nothing will erase all the crappy stuff I did to you.”

She looks up at him then with startled eyes. Did she honestly forget the whole part about him having tortured her for centuries?

“Dude…Don’t compare yourself to my mom.” She says, not unkindly; “You didn’t _choose_ to be a demon. She chose to be a parent. And she chose to treat me like crap until she preferred to leave my life forever. For you…it was a fucking job. And you didn’t just leave me out to dry.”

More than she even knows. When it came down to a choice between his own safety and hers…the solution had been very simple.

“It’s easier for you to say that when you don’t remember what I did. But it doesn’t make it right and it doesn’t stop me regretting what I did to you.” He sighs, reaching up to touch her face, remembering all the looks of scorn and betrayal and heartbreak he inflicted; “As far as I’m concerned, Eleanor, you were always worth changing for. I just wish I’d been far less of a coward so I could have done it sooner. Maybe your mom feels the same, maybe not…”

Eleanor’s expression starts to crumble and she falls back down to bury her face in his shoulder.

“But please,” Michael continues, his voice strained; “Don’t ever feel like it was your fault for what the monsters in your life and afterlife did, okay?”

He feels the tears leave her face and soak his shirt as she nestles against him. He holds her tight and lets her use him in place of a toilet plunger for a good few minutes, doing what he should have done in that damn school auditorium, instead of trying to be the big all knowing guardian figure.

It’s odd being this close to Eleanor, seeing her cry up close, being the one to comfort her. He’d never been able to succeed in making her cry in all those centuries, not directly at least, though fallouts between her and Chidi or some personal snipes by Vicky had made her tear up on a few occasions. Even as close as they had been in the last reboot, she never allowed herself to be too vulnerable around him, possibly always aware of the slim possibility he was still fucking with them and waiting for the opportunity to betray them all.

And, to his everlasting shame, he can’t deny that had been on his mind as a possible plan. At least for the first few days after joining their ‘team’.

What a selfish brat he’d been.

He hopes that Donna Shellstrop hates her past self as much as he loathes his.

Eventually, the stifled sobs cease and Eleanor’s breathing settles against him. He gives her arm a rub; “Better?”

She slowly sits up, their hands still locked together.

“Not really. But I’ll be okay…now I know I’m not alone.” Eleanor gives his fingers a squeeze; “Not when I’ve got the nicest monster by my side.”

That might be the most deserving compliment he can accept.

“You feel crappy for as long as you want. I’ll ride it out with you till the end. It’s not like I’m getting any older.” He quips.

Eleanor smiles and leans in to leave a long, lingering kiss on his cheek, before moving back.

“Thanks, demon buddy.”

He’s dumbfounded as to what to say to that, the tingling left on his cheek almost as intense as the drunken ones pressed on his lips earlier. Perhaps because she’s sobered up slightly and this…he thinks…means something. He’s not sure what, but more than just desperation.

Eleanor holds their stare for a few, awkward seconds, before she moves her hand away.

“I’m gonna have a shower and slip into some pyjamas I might have splurged on when I passed the mall on the way here.” She says, getting off the bed; “You wanna order some food and choose a movie I can fall asleep too? Not another horror or mom-themed one, please.”

“I can manage that.” He says, reaching for the remote.

Something classic and hilarious, maybe, to cheer her up. _Weekend at Bernie’s_ , perhaps?

Preferably nothing with romance or sexual scenes that might lead to something…problematic, again.

“Hey, Michael,” Eleanor pauses on her way to the bathroom, leaning against the door frame.

“Hmm?”

She tugs at the hem of her striped sweater, looking nervous; “Say…if I wasn’t drunk or an emotional mess when I kissed you just now….Would you have still told me to stop?”

His throat goes dry as he looks down at the empty space on the bed beside him.

“I’m not sure...”

She blinks, her fingers tightening at the wall.

Michael’s lips curl a little as he looks up at her again, wishing away the inevitable color rising in his cheeks.

“I guess we’ll have to test what happens next time, when you’re sober.”

Fuck, that was presumptuous. Not when, _if_ , dude! Seriously.

He waits for Eleanor’s look of reluctance or disgust.

Instead, to his eternal surprise, she smiles; “I guess we will.”


End file.
